


The Italian Art of War

by cdreaiton



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Implied France/England - Freeform, M/M, Office Sex, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 17:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3217487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdreaiton/pseuds/cdreaiton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany has been avoiding Italy lately, and Italy is tired of it!  He goes to France for advice and decides to 'take the lead' and seduce his stoic lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Italian Art of War

He has always been a patient person. In fact, the idea of applying the word ‘impatient’ to Northern Italy is mildly ridiculous. ‘Coward’, ‘Clumsy’, ‘Spineless’, ‘Hyperactive’, ‘Dumber than a bag of rocks with a dunce cap’, sure. But never ‘impatient’. And so France finds himself slightly open mouthed, staring at his young friend, and replaying the words he’s just heard, trying to decide if he has actually heard them, or is in fact starting to go senile as England keeps claiming.

“I’m sorry, _mon ami_ , but what did you say?” says France and takes a quick sip of his coffee.

“I said I’m tired of waiting France. Germany has been ignoring me for more than a week, and I don’t know what I did to make him so mad at me! He is so busy with work all the time, and he refuses to eat the food I make him, and he sleeps on the couch in his office instead of coming to bed with me. We haven’t had sex in nearly two weeks, and I am growing impatient!”

France sets the delicate cup on the table, taking a bit longer than is absolutely necessary to give himself time to process what Italy has said. He looks thoughtfully at Italy and rubs his chin.

“Is there something going on in his work that is causing him stress?” France leans back with his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin in his hand.

“He doesn’t answer questions about his work, not when I ask, but Japan said that Germany’s boss has been giving him a lot of unnecessary things to do, and that Germany doesn’t have the heart to tell him no.” Italy sighs, sadness darkening his eyes.

“You’ve spoken to Japan about this?”

Italy isn’t exactly secretive about his relations with Germany, but Japan likes discussing relationship problems about as much as Switzerland likes spending money.

“He called last week to see if Germany still needed some something or other, design for a new communication array I think, and when I apologized and told him Germany wasn’t taking phone calls, he told me not to apologize and said he understood. And then when I commented that I _didn’t_ , he explained what he knew to me.”

“I see,” says France, gears beginning to turn in his head.

And he does see, or is at least starting to. Everyone has had plenty of work recently. The economy seems to constantly be in a state of crisis, America is being his usual trigger happy self which seems to cause more problems for everyone else than it ever does for the younger country, Russia has been increasing the stringency of his political policies once again, and to top it all off it is an Olympic year, which means everyone is walking on eggshells around everyone else, which causes tension even among the countries that are usually friends, and means paperwork lined in red tape is stacked high on everyone’s desk. So it makes sense that Germany has a lot of work to handle. But it strikes France as odd that Germany hasn’t been attempting to seek some sort of solace in his young Italian lover. England and himself are stealing away together anytime they both have five minutes free and are anywhere in the vicinity of an empty room large enough for the two of them. Although this particular strategy has led to more than one bruised knee and banged up elbow and has gotten both of them far more acquainted with the other’s personal washrooms than either cares to think about. France grimaces slightly and makes a mental note to take his lover on a long and extremely relaxing vacation once the madness has died down a bit, and turns back to Italy, pushing his own relationship problems to the back of his mind. 

Normally, he would simply tell his young friend to follow his example, drag Germany into whatever space is currently available for a quick and dirty romp in between meetings. But Germany and Italy have a vastly different relationship than the one he has with England. Germany is notoriously bad at relationships, and Italy has never been with a male lover before. Well, at least one that he wanted more than a carnal relationship with. A thought strikes France.

“Have you tried seducing him?” he asks offhandedly, taking his cup from the table and taking another sip.

Italy cocks his head and stares blankly at France for a moment.

“Like with flowers or chocolate or something? I don’t really think Germany would appreciate things like that. I do make him dinner every night, but he never eats it and it always goes cold.” Italy frowns and looks down into his lap, wringing his hands slightly. “But I suppose I could try…”

As he trails off, France can’t help but chuckle at the innocence of his young friend.

“Come _mon ami_ , surely you know there is more to seducing a person than flowers and chocolat!” When a telltale pink flush rises on Italy’s cheeks, France begins to laugh in earnest. “Oh _Italie_ , you are simply too cute for words. You cannot seduce a man like Germany with frivolous gifts and half-meant gestures. _Non_ , a man like him needs passion. You must make his desire for you outweigh any other thought in his mind.”

The confusion on Italy’s face increases for a moment, but is quickly replaced by a look of deep concentration.

“But how do I do that _Francia_? He is always working, and won’t leave his office unless it is absolutely necessary. When I try and bring food to him, he barely notices I’m there, and he never touches the food. I even tried dressing up in that maid uniform you bought me for Natale last year, but he didn’t respond at all. Not even a second glance or an eye twitch.” Italy sighs and drops his head into his hands. “I miss him. The bed is so cold and lonely when he is not there. I miss the feel of his skin on mine, and the warmth and tenderness he shows me in his kisses. I just...I want my _Germania_ back and I’m tired of waiting!”

France smiles knowingly as the last few pieces fall into place and stands from his chair. In one graceful movement he sits next to Italy on the couch and places an arm around his shoulders with a gentle squeeze.

“I know you are frustrated Italy. It’s hard when the person we love ignores us, but I don’t think Germany is doing it on purpose. Well, at least not consciously at any rate.”

Italy leans slightly into the offered embrace, appreciating the silent gesture of support.

“What do you mean?” he asks, confusion returning.

France is quiet for a moment as he thinks of how to explain the complex situation to his friend.

“Well, it’s like…” he pauses, searching his mind for an analogy Italy will understand. A smile crosses his lips briefly when he thinks of one. “You know how Romano is always yelling and cursing at Spain?” Italy furrows his brows in further confusion, but nods. “Do you know why he does that?”

“Because he doesn’t like Spain?” Italy offers. France bites the inside of his cheek to stifle his laugh..

“ _Non, mon ami_ , exactly the opposite. He loves Spain very much, but he doesn’t know how to show it, and he doesn’t want others to think him weak for feeling such an intense emotion as love,” explains France. When Italy doesn’t respond, he continues. “Germany is the same way. It’s obvious in the way he looks at you, especially when you can’t see him, how much he loves you. He loves you so much I think it scares him. I think…” France pauses a moment and runs a hand through his hair. “I think he is afraid that if he shows you just how much he loves you, that you will think it is too much and push him away. And he is more afraid of losing you than anything else in the world.”

“Why would I push him away for loving me?! That doesn’t make any sense!” Italy whirls and faces France, pinning him with a heartfelt attempt at a glare. “Why would he think that?”

France sighs and places a hand on Italy’s shoulder, trying to calm him.

“It doesn’t make sense, I know. But I am almost entirely certain this is how he feels. You are so important to him, and he is so afraid of losing you, that instead of worrying that what he is doing or saying will push you away, he does nothing at all. Which, I know, is much worse.”

Italy’s shoulders slump and his head drops to rest against France’s chest.

“What do I do _Francia_? How do I prove to him I’m not going to leave?”

France places a finger under Italy’s chin and lifts, meeting his young friend’s eyes.

“You show him how much _you_ love _him_. Let him see your want, your desire, your need...your love. Show him. That will be proof enough.”

Italy blinks in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen in understanding and a large, almost mischievous grin blossoms on his lips. He throws his arms around France, hugging the older country tightly. France wraps his arms around Italy and returns the embrace.

“Thank you, France.”

And just as quickly as the hug had begun, France finds his arms empty, and watches as Italy bolts out the door, barely remembering to grab his jacket. France smiles and shakes his head with a soft laugh. Then he reaches for the phone on the end table, deciding he ought to show his own prickly lover just how much he is loved.

*** 

Italy stands outside Germany’s office wringing his hands together and trying to convince himself he can do this. Bravery has never really been his thing, but he doubts, no he knows waving one of his characteristic white flags for this would only make the situation much worse. Taking a deep breath, he gathers what little nerve and courage he has and, without even bothering to knock, opens the door.

Germany is exactly where he expects him to be, sitting behind his desk poring over a rather intimidating looking report, with several more stacked in piles around him. He glances up at the sudden intrusion, the shock evident on his face when he sees Italy standing in the doorway.

“Has something happened Italy? Is there something wrong?” asks Germany, worry creasing the skin between his eyes.

Quietly, which is unlike him and causes Germany to worry a bit more, Italy closes the office door and locks it.

“Yes, _Germania_. There is something wrong.”

Italy starts a slow, meaningful walk towards Germany’s desk, undoing the buttons on his coat as he walks. When he finishes with the last button, he slides his shoulders out and lets the jacket fall to the floor. Germany’s eyebrows nearly reach his hairline and his mouth drops open slightly. Bolstered by having caught his lover off-guard, Italy undoes the top button and fly of his pants, pausing in his walk a moment to let them drop from his slender hips. He smirks saucily at the blush that stains Germany’s cheeks when he sees Italy’s lack of underwear and painfully obvious erection.

Stepping out of his puddled trousers, Italy unbuttons his shirt as he finishes walking to where Germany sits behind his desk. With the grace of a cat, a very horny, sexy cat, Italy straddles Germany’s legs and slides into his lap, leaning up and placing a gentle kiss right below his ear causing the skin beneath his lips to shiver slightly in response and a barely audible gasp to escape Germany’s still parted lips.

“I miss you, Germany,” whispers Italy, deft hands starting to unfasten the buttons on Germany’s stiff collared jacket. “I need you...need you inside me...filling me…” As he finishes working on the coat, Italy starts on his shirt, kissing along Germany’s jaw until his lips are only a hair’s breadth away from Germany’s. “Fuck me, Germany...please...I need you...want you...hurry…” Italy breathes before closing the distance and kissing his lover deeply and passionately.

Italy quickly dominates the kiss, nipping softly at Germany’s bottom lip until the larger man growls quietly in his chest and fists his hands in Italy’s shirt, pulling him closer. But after a moment, Germany pulls back and grips Italy’s shoulders tightly, holding him at arms length.

“ _Italien_ ,” gasps Germany, breathing heavily from the sheer intensity of the kiss. “I cannot...I have much...much work to do.”

Knowing his lover his much stronger than him, Italy doesn’t fight the grip on his shoulders, but he doesn’t intend to be denied either. Not after coming this far. His fingers quickly unfasten the top of Germany’s pants, and he slips a hand inside, palming Germany’s rapidly stiffening erection through the fabric of his boxers. The grip on his shoulders tightens.

“Work can wait,” whispers Italy, eyes dark with lust. “Please Germany...I can’t wait any longer...now...oh please...fuck me now.” Italy gently rubs his hand along Germany’s cock, his tongue darting out to lick his lips with need.

“N-no, Italy. I must...I must finish my work,” says Germany through gritted teeth, forcing himself to think of battle tactics and troop formations, anything that will distract him from the heavenly feel of Italy’s hand on him and the litany of provocative filth spilling from his lover’s lips. “And I don’t...I don’t want to hurt you.”

Germany closes his eyes against the perverted image of a nearly naked Italy sitting on his lap, and loosens his grip on his lovers shoulders when he feels Italy’s hand being removed from his pants. But his sigh of relief is short lived when instead of moving off his lap, Italy leans in close, the heat from his chest warming Germany’s own and his breath tickling Germany’s ear.

“Yes you do. You love it when I whimper and squirm while you force your big, thick cock into my tight little hole. And do you want to know a secret? So do I.” Germany’s breath catches in his throat and his hands fist in Italy’s shirt again as he marshals all of his considerable willpower to keep from coming in his pants right the fuck now. “I love the way it burns when you push inside me, the way it feels like your cock is going to tear me apart from the inside.” Italy slips his hand back into Germany’s pants causing Germany to flinch and grip his shirt so hard Italy is sure he can feel it ripping. “Do it, Germany. Fuck me...burn me...fill me with you...love me...please Germany, please...show me you love me…”

Faster than should be possible, Italy finds himself lifted from Germany’s lap, spun around, and slammed onto the top of Germany’s desk, papers scattering to the floor from the force of it. As Italy tries to regain his breath, his arm is yanked up behind him, restrained but not painfully so, and a deep voice growls in his ear.

“You want me to hurt you, Italy?” Two fingers force their way into Italy’s mouth rendering him unable to respond. Understanding, Italy begins to suck on them diligently while Germany keeps talking, the words running straight through him to his own painfully weeping cock. “Is that why you’ve interrupted my work and paraded yourself around my office like a whorish little trollop? Because you’re so desperate for me to fuck you? Fuck you in your tight little pucker until you whimper and beg me to stop?” Now thoroughly coated, Germany removes his fingers from Italy’s mouth and, without warning, shoves them both into Italy’s ass wrenching an agonized scream from the smaller man’s throat. “Is that what you want?”

Tears spring to Italy’s eyes at the sudden and painful intrusion. It’s been a while since Germany’s touched him, and he’s incredibly tight. But the pain is momentary, and is quickly replaced with a pleasure so deep he is positive he can feel it in his bones. Germany’s seeking fingers find the nub of sensitive flesh inside him and rub it gently, making Italy moan like a wanton little slut. His blood pounds loud in his ears as he draws in enough breath to answer.

“Y-yes...oh yes Germany, please...hurry...now...please…” The fingers inside him scissor apart, stretching him roughly and he cries out from the burn of it as a tear rolls down his face. But whether it is one of pain or joy, he can’t tell.

He hears Germany spit behind him and the fingers are removed, quickly replaced by something much larger pressing at his entrance. Italy tries as hard as he can to relax because tensing will only make it hurt more, and while Germany might be average in length, he is certainly not average in girth. But Germany has no desire to actually harm his lover, and eases inside of him slowly, making Italy feel every inch of burn as it stretches out his tight hole.

It feels like an eternity to Italy until Germany is fully seated inside him. Germany holds himself perfectly still, one hand gripping Italy’s arm tightly, and the other digging into Italy’s hip, and lets Italy adjust for a minute, which is a feat he believes there should be medals for because keeping himself from rutting like an animal while his cock is surrounded by the warm, wet silk of Italy’s asshole is taking every ounce of willpower he has left. When Italy squirms a little underneath him, he leans down and brushes a lock of damp brown hair from Italy’s face.

“Ready, _mein liebe_?” he whispers softly. Italy nods, breathless.

Germany can feel Italy’s moan reverberate through him as he slowly pulls out until just the head of his cock is still inside. Then, with no further warning, he snaps his hips forward and buries himself to hilt again. Italy arches off the desk and cries with an agony mixed with toe-curling pleasure. Germany fucks him with rapid fire thrusts, hitting his prostate dead on nearly every time and wringing tears from Italy’s eyes that match the moans and whimpers from his lips.

It doesn’t take either of them very long, and Italy barely has enough time to cry, “Germany, I’m…” before his balls draw up tight against his body and he spills onto the floor beneath Germany’s desk. Seconds later, Germany thrusts hard and deep into his hole, and he feels the warmth of Germany’s seed spilling inside him.

Italy lies boneless on the desk, whimpering slightly when Germany slides out of him, and basks in the post-orgasmic haze as Germany, with his usual efficiency, makes a credible attempt at cleaning them both up. Once the immediate mess has been dealt with, he carefully lifts Italy off the desk and into his arms and carries him to the bedroom, holding him close and pulling a blanket over the two of them. Italy curls his small body around Germany’s and nuzzles into his lover’s neck, eyes closing in exhaustion. Germany places a kiss on top of the messy brown hair and pulls Italy closer. Smiling, Italy murmurs sleepily,

“ _Ti amo_.”

To which Germany replies,

“ _Ich liebe dich_.”

_(I love you.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Sigh.
> 
> DON'T FUCK YOUR LOVER THIS HARD UNLESS YOU BOTH KNOW THEY CAN TAKE IT!!!!
> 
> Little bit of pain can be nice during sex, but that doesn't mean you can, or should, just bend your partner over and take them raw. Unless that has been arranged carefully beforehand.
> 
> That is all.
> 
> This story is a part of the blog (aph-on-bdsm.tumblr.com). Please visit for more interactions from these characters and others!
> 
> ^_^


End file.
